Straightforward
by I or Me
Summary: The Black Organization has been taken down. The cure for Shinichi's affliction is on its way. But nothing is ever truly so simple. Every decision must be made with all of the facts sorted out. There's only one truth, but no one likes it.


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 **Anyway, I actually had a different idea of what to do, but then I thought about it more and changed my mind.**

 **Three things. One, I'm not at all concerned about keeping an upload schedule. Two, some characters may be OOC. Three, I may accidentally use an English name here or there. Bite me.**

 **I should also note that the furthest I've ever gotten in the series was ~Episode 200 (dub) and ~Chapter 500, after many weeks of trying to just plow through it, while having other obligations. This was 3 years ago. As such, I don't know many things that happened.**

It was a night that, to anyone not in the know, was as ordinary a night as you could get. There wasn't a full moon lighting up the dark streets and alleys. It was quarter crescent, heavy clouds lazily shifting between the earth and the moon.

Despite the clouds, it wasn't stormy. There was no thick sheet of rainwater beating down relentlessly on a cold, uncaring world. There was no lightning to reveal the squalor and violence of a corrupted city. Its brother, thunder, never even made its well meaning but lethargic entrance to drown out the sounds of screaming and death. The brothers never made an appearance, and this went unnoticed, for there was no reason for them to do so.

Perhaps it was windier than expected, but God's breath did not sweep the lands, razing saints and beggars alike in a vain attempt to smite the wicked off the face of the planet.

It was not calm, like the lull before a killer storm crashes into a bay side town, forever changing lives in the chaos. Activities continued on. 24-hour shops remained open, selling their wares to whoever they could swindle at such an hour. Bars and other party venues were starting to approach their ideal hours, people from all over meeting up to collectively wipe their memories of the night.

However, the city was not engaged in excitement and drama. Many students were settling down for the night, their guardians following suit. The bars hadn't reached numbers that were particularly out of the ordinary, either.

To those in the know however, it was not just any night. It was _the_ night. To them, the glimpses of lunar light through the soft clouds were beacons, nay, _spotlights_ on the stage they were entering. Every flickering streetlight was a blinding brilliance, sending contrasting shadows into the fray, jumping and dancing like jubilant children, heralding their arrival. Every footstep was a deafening roar, exploding through the air. A sudden breeze was the invisible hand of some God or another, pushing them towards, or away from, their destination. Everything was still, yet full of action and surprise.

Droves of armored men and women, stockpiles of guns and ammunition, and enough handcuffs to arrest every small-time crook up from here to Osaka. Black vans and armored trucks stealthily moving through back streets and hidden passages. Emblazoned on every shirt, hat, and vehicle were the letters FBI, or the name of some of the backup help they'd gotten.

They were moving to a set of warehouses in a district forgotten to the populace due to heavy construction that never went anywhere. Popping in and out of various back ways and hidden doors were men and women all dressed in smart black suits. Amidst the flutter of black coats and dark grey vests, tiny shimmers of light betrayed their shining handguns and rifles.

The ensuing scuffle could only be described as madness. Bullets zoomed around like flies. Was that streak of light a faraway headlight, or death in a full metal jacket? Only time would tell.

The chaos continued, several higher ups trying to escape using decoys upon decoys. What they couldn't predict was the influence of a small child, 6 or 7 years of age, in a van far away from the scene. A small child that saw through their every ploy, scheme, and trick. After putting in some hard work, of course.

A man in, perhaps, the smartest suit, hunched over and clearly aged, was currently decked against a van, cuffs being placed on his wrists, aged and feeble.

The scuffle didn't technically end until an hour or so later, but it was all over long before.

After it was over, the casualties, from the hurt, to crippled, to dead, were tallied. To those involved, the footsteps were a little quieter, the moonlight less radiant, and their satisfaction short-lived.

The small boy thought to himself about how funny it was. A secret take-down of a secret organization no one knows… on a night no one will remember. It was oddly fitting.


End file.
